No Turning Back
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: For a moment, it looked like the entire idea would be redundant. A simple clap of the hands would have fixed it, but then the wind came…


**A/N: **This is set in the Brotherhood universe, where Al didn't actually go with Ed for the State Alchemist exam. I remember Ed returning back to Resembool in the flashback of episode 2. I haven't seen it for a while though, so it's not strictly adherent to the scene.

Enjoy.

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_**No Turning Back**_

They could have done it using alchemy, but the control of flame wasn't an art either of them had ever thought to dab in. It seemed pointless in a way: their goal had been to resurrect their mother. Earth and mineral based alchemy had been the important factors, and although they had dabbed in a little of everything under their teacher, fire alchemy was one they had barely scraped the surface of.

'Fire isn't for children to play with,' Izumi had said sternly when the ever-curious Edward had inquired. The question had earned them extra training and chores and their hands had begun forming blisters once the last piece of wood had been piled up in front of the fire. A box of matches, half filled still, lay on the mantle-piece; they were little sticks with phosphorus attached at the end.

He had still been staring at those matches when Izumi came in. Her eyes travelled along the other's line of sight before her thin lips twitched into something that was a hybrid between a smirk and a disapproving frown. 'Do you want to try?' she asked, handing him the box of matches in a smooth motion before pointing at the empty grate.

It had turned out that clearing and cutting firewood had by far been the easiest task. His first attempt caused a tiny black dot in the central log. His second attempt, before Izumi could comment on the earlier one, almost singed his eyebrows off while ending in the same image. The wood that was: a couple of dots, barely singed. His face and hands on the other hand quickly developed welts. Not that Izumi had been merciful towards his indisposition.

'Stubbornness won't solve the world's problems,' she calmly explained after ordering him to soak the paining appendages with a wet towel: his only relief. 'Nature is far stronger than the human will.'

'But is fire alchemy possible?' he wanted to know.

There was a pause before she replied. 'Yes,' she said eventually. 'But the question you should ask is: is it of any use?'

It hadn't seemed so at the time, nor did it there and then; even if it was a technique they had mastered and defined, what could it do that some kerosene and a lit match couldn't.

They'd thought long and hard, both on the matter itself and what to spare. It was the personal items particularly that they laboured on, but in the end all they took was the little money that remained: the money Trisha had kept safe from them from Hohenheim's initial letters…before they stopped coming. As much as Edward loathed the idea of taking the remainder of that, they had little choice. It wasn't like the State gave a large fat sum upon sign-up. The process was, as Mustang explained, quite long winded and required at least a month's probationary work before the money went anywhere aside from paying for dorms and cafeteria food…and if required, transport to missionary locations. It didn't however cover the expenses for Edward to pick up his little brother. It only covered the cost of travelling to Yousewell and back, so there was a little extra cost both ways with the detour to Resembool.

They'd chosen, in the end, to leave all their personal items behind. The clothes Edward wore: the red jacket with the Flamel Crest upon its back, the leather shirt, top and boots, the lighter singlet and the white gloves to cover his automail…they were a gift from the Rockbells. Except for the gloves; Winry had flat-out refused to have her work of art covered so indiscriminately, but Al had understood the need for his brother to have that covering at hand at the very least and had somehow managed to persuade Pinako to add the item to the list. The photos were the hardest…or rather, those that captured their mother's smile, but in the end it disrupted their path forward and so they were left. And before they could regret it, the papers were splashed and the match lit.

Their mother's smile was the first thing to melt away into ash. Edward didn't spare the family portrait a glance: the only one that held their father's face, but Alphonse's metallic eyes strayed towards the image before it too vanished into a film of smoke.

'We'd better go,' the older Elric muttered, hands reflexively slipping into his pockets. But he didn't move, and neither did Al, even as his armour began to leech a little heat from the flame quickly catching; the papers laid scattered amongst the floor had fed the fire into the wood, and the cabinet and chairs were starting to smoulder and burn as well.

They watched silently for a long moment, watching the remnants of their old life vanish into smoke, but when the last of the pictures were nothing about indistinguishable ash, they both reacted. With a choked sob echoing from the armour Alphonse took a step forward as if to clasp the small fragments, all that was left of their memories in physical form. Edward made no move to stop him; his expression had set itself into stone, except for his eyes which darkened in the light of the flare.

Then the pillars above them creaked and the first part of the roof fell just before their feet. It wasn't close enough to hit them; a good thing too as neither moved. The fire still smouldered; if it was put out now, there wouldn't be much damage…except the mementos they couldn't replace.

But they could, and the automail fist clenched as the thought crossed the elder Elric's mind. Alchemy. Alchemy could reverse the process; they'd just seen the pictures, they could easily resurrect it from the ask, provided it was all there. And it would be. It would be so easy to turn around, to simply clap his hands, put out the fire and repair the damage before settling back down. But the automail, leeching heat as well, was a reminder of exactly why he could not do that. His brother's body was probably worse. The metal was thinner, less heat-resistant. It was true that it would probably take a furnace to melt it down, but the fact of the matter was that it was no human body. Al couldn't feel the heat. His baby brother couldn't feel their world burning up around them, clearing the path for a new road to grow.

The yellow braid whipped in the breeze that filtered through the gap. The wind both fed the fire and redirected it. Within minutes, the broken roof caught alight and the chairs were fully ablaze. Within minutes, ashes were flying into the air behind cries neither of them recognised nor admitted to. Within minutes, the path was being set. There was no turning back then.

Without those ashes, there would be no equivalent exchange. No restoring those pictures. No restoring the one thing that could hold them back.

A metal arm slid into another, and the brother slowly walked out, shrouded by smoke. Outside, on the hill where the fresh breeze still blew, they watched the remainder of the building cave upon itself and burn. The smoke rose very little, and it only took a few coughs to get it out of the human system. Alphonse's eyes turned towards his brother for a moment, but Edward was determined not to meet his gaze.

The minute flecks of black floating away weren't lost on either of them, but it was thrown into a greater light when lightning flashed across the sky. Thunder came soon after with a resounding crash, and then the anger…or perhaps tears, of heaven came pouring down.

'Are you really leaving?' It was Winry, in her dress and crying too.

Edward's face was almost blank as he turned towards his female friend. 'Idiot,' he said, albeit somewhat fondly. 'What are you crying for?'

'Because you're not,' the other snapped, tears streaking down her cheeks.

The newly certified State Alchemist looked once more at the house – no, the ruins thereof. There was no house now. No home. No opportunity for rebuilding; the wind had carried the last fleeing hope away, and it was a good thing too. They couldn't turn back.

They wouldn't turn back. After all, they'd left no room except to press onward.


End file.
